Infamous Like Us (Like Us 10)

Since Luna has experienced a pregnancy scare, I went to her for help. I thought about going to my mom, but I’m scared she’d tell Dad and he’ll end up thinking worse of Banks and Akara. He’s in my corner now, and he’s also slowly building a good relationship with them.

Emphasis on fucking slowly.

I bet that’ll all crumble like Humpty Dumpty if he believes they weren’t careful with me. Again. Like the world, my dad also heard about me taking Plan B. We had a tense family dinner that ended with him cursing out my boyfriends for not wearing protection. To which they had to so awkwardly clarify that condoms were involved.

One just broke.

So I’m trying to avoid that. But that feels so minor and so inconsequential to the bigger picture. Which is the jarring fact that I could actually be pregnant right now.

I chew on the corner of my lip. Not realizing how hard I’m biting. The bitter, iron taste of blood reaches my tongue. Fuck. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

I check the time again.

Luckily, the United States is last in the Parade of Nations as the host country this year. So I have some time.

“One more minute,” I clock. My pulse quickens. Akara and Banks think I’m taking a shit. Fucking truly. I was lined up with the rest of the U.S. athletes when I pulled my boyfriends aside and whispered, “I have to take a nervous shit.”

They were both super duper fucking concerned and whisked me to the nearest public bathroom. My heart literally swelled five-sizes too big during that single moment.

Now my heart is shriveling into a ball. I never wanted to be the kind of girlfriend who’d keep secrets from her boyfriends. Especially not ones this monumental and life-changing.

Telling them I could be pregnant has felt like info that’ll be a blow to the head more than a warm, inviting hug.

So I didn’t do it.

Not yet. I figure if it’s negative, there’s no point in causing them more stress. With all the publicity surrounding our relationship and my Olympic journey, they’ve been more on edge. More watchful. Observant. Danger feels like its creeping around the corner, a second away from breathing on my neck, but I’m here to compete.

I’m here to win gold.

I can take the test. See the negative results. End my own paranoia and return to total concentration. Total victory.

That’s the goal.

I take a breath and glance up at the bathroom stall. Imagining Akara and Banks so close. My heart skips, and I open my mouth to call out for them.

But words catch in my throat.

My eyes burn.

I remember what Banks once told me. Way back after the cougar attack almost a year ago. He said, “The things you aren’t ready to tell people, they’re not really secrets. They’re just vulnerable parts of you that need time to be shared.”

This feels like one of those moments that’s too vulnerable to share.

Too much to get out right now. I wipe at my scalding eyes, trying to subdue the bubbling emotion. I can already predict the headlines:

Sullivan Meadows Is Crying During Opening Ceremony!

Why is Sullivan Meadows Crying?

What’s Wrong With Her?

Nothing.

Fucking nothing and then everything. I pinch my eyes and chew on the corner of my lip again. Hey, hey, hey, stop, Sulli, Banks would say quickly and clutch my face.

Some days, I’ve chewed my lips raw.

Some days, I’ve clung to Akara’s arms like a petrified girl in a horror movie, and my biggest comfort is knowing and feeling that I have them.

Some days, I’ve cried into Banks’ chest until I’ve fallen asleep.

No days have I said, let’s give up. Their love is what keeps me upright on those terrible some days.

I just don’t want today to be one of them.

The stadium is full.

The entire world is watching the Opening Ceremony.

These past six months might’ve been like living under the hottest spotlight, but these weeks at the Olympics will be like living under a microscope. There’s no hiding.

Except, I guess, right now.

“Time,” I whisper, staring at my wristwatch. Then I slowly remove the cap from the stick.

Two lines.

Pregnant.

Holy fucking shit.

2

AKARA KITSUWON

Uneasiness mounts the longer Sulli spends in the bathroom. I refix my comms earpiece, then glance to Banks, then to the mostly barren hallway. Footsteps clap, and with urgency, a camera guy and sports reporter walk briskly in the opposite direction. They cast glances back at us.

Lovely.

So very lovely.

They stop in place. Seeing us alone. Like loitering prey. Like we’re more newsworthy than the Opening Ceremony of the actual Olympics.

Not exactly shocking.

Our faces have been all over entertainment news. Magazines paint Banks as the rugged Marine and me as the badass Muay Thai fighter—and yeah, people are still picking sides. It’s beyond frustrating.

In a perfect world, they’d get over the “newsworthiness” of our poly relationship. In a perfect world, they’d accept that Sulli isn’t going to choose one.